Songs of labor and other poems

Google

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project

to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the

publisher to a library and finally to you.

Usage guidelines

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.

About Google Book Search

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web

at |http: //books .google .com/I

I

D.j.iMhiCdoglc

.dbiGoogle

.dbiGoogIc

D,i.,.db, Google

D,i.,.db,Googlc

SONGS OF LABOR

AND OTHER POEMS BY
MORRIS ROSENFELD

Translated from the Yiddish by
Rose Pastor Stokes and Helena Frank

BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER

THECOPPCLAKKCO, LmiTm, TORONTO

nio

D,i.,.db, Google

h^ij CopjrriBhi, 1914, by Rlolmrd G. 8«dB«r

t^ iQ^ *" Ri«bH Raservod

.K85
575

Thi OOKBAN Pkbm, Bcmtor. U. 8. Jl

Dictzed by Google

CONTENTS

Page

In the Factory 7

My Boy 10

The Nightbgale to the Woricman 12

What is the World? 14

Despair 16

Whither? 18

From Dawn to Dawn 19

The Candle Seller 21

The Pale Operator 24

The Be^ar Family 25

A Millionaire aS

September Melodies 29

Depression 31

The Canary 32

Want and I 33

The Phantom Vessel 36

To my Misery 38

O Long the Way. . ..... . . 40

To the Fortune Seeker 41

My Youth . 42

In the Wilderness 44

IVe Often Laughed 45

Again I ^gmy Songs 46

Liberty . ., 48

A Tree in the Ghetto 50

275956 '^

The Cemetery Nightingale 52

The Creation of Man. . : 54

Journalism 56

Pen and Shears 57

For Hire 58

A Fellow Slave 59

The Jewish May 61

The Feast of Lights 65

Chanukah Thoughts 66

Sfere 67

Measuring the Graves 70

The First Bath of Ablution 72

Atonement Evening Prayer 74

Exit Holiday 75

D,:„l,;cdtv Google

SONGS OF LABOR AND OTHER POEMS

D,i.,.db, Google

D,i.,.db, Google

IN THE FACTORY

/^Oh, here in the shop the machines roar so wildly,

That oft, unaware that I am, or have been,

I sink and am lost in die terrible tumult;

^d void is my sonl . . . I am but a ma-
chine.

I woriE and I work and I work, never ceasing;

Create and create things from morning till e'en;

For what? — and for whom — Oh, I know not I
Oh, ask not I

Who ever has heard of a consdous machine?

No_, here is no feeling, no thougfit and no reason;
This life-crushing labor has ever sapprest
The noblest and finest, the truest and richest.
The deepest, the highest and humanly best.
The seconds, the minutes, they pass out forever,
The^ vanish, swift fleeting like straws in a gale.
I drive the wheel madly as tfao' to o'ertake them, —
Give chase without wisdom, or wit, or avail.

The clock in the workshop, — it rests not a moment;

It points on, and ticks on : Eternity — Time ;

And oace someone told me the clock had a mean-
ing, —

Its pointing and ticking had reason and rhyme.

And this too he told me,— or had I been dream-
ing, —

The clock wakened life in one, forces unseen,

And something besides; . . . I forget what;
Oh, a^ not I

I know not, I know not, I am a machine.

jdbyGoOJ^IC

At times, when I listen, I hear the clock plainly; —
The reason of old— the old meaning — is gone I
The maddening pendulum urges me forward
To labor and labor and still labor on.
The tick of the clock is the Boss in his anger 1
The face of the clock has the eyes of a foe;
The dock — Oh, I shudder — dost hear how it drives

me 7
It calls me "Machine I" and it cries to me "Sew I"

At noon, when about me the wild tumult ceases,
And gone is the master, and I sit apart,
And dawn in my brain is beginning to glimmer.
The wound comes agape at the core of my heart;
And tears, bitter tears Sow; ay, tears that are

scalding;
They moisten my dinner — ^my dry crust of bread;
They choke me,— I cannot eat;— no, no, I can-
not!
Oh, horrible toil I bom of Need and of Dread.

The sweatshop at mid-day— I'll draw you the pic-

bire:
A battlefield bloody ; the conflict at rest ;
Around and about me the corpses are lying;
The blood cries aloud from the earth's gory breast.
A moment . . . and hark I The loud signal

is sounded,
The dead rise again and renewed is the fight ...
They struggle, these corpses; for strangers, for

strangers 1
They struggle, they fall, and they sink into night.

Dictzed by Google

I gaze on the battle in bitterest anger,
And [>ain, hellish pain wakes the rebel in me I
The clock— now 1 hear it aright I— It is crying:
"An end to this bondage 1 An end there must be!"
It quickens my reason, each feeling within me ;
It shows me how precious the moments that fly.
Oh, worthless my life if I longer am silent.
And lost to the world if in silence I die.

The man in me sleeping begins to awaken;
The thing that was slave into slumber has passed:
Now; up with the man in me I Up and be doing I
No misery more I Here is freedom at last I
When sudden : a whistle I — the Boss — an alarum I —
I sink in the slime of the stagnant routine;—
There's tumult, they struggle, oh, lost is my ego;—
I know not, I care not, I am a machine I . . .

DictizedbyGoOJ^Ic

MY BOY

I have a little boy at home,

A pretty little son;

I mink sometimes the world is mine

In him, my only one.

But seldom, seldom do I see
My child in heaven's light;
I nnd him always fast asleep
I see him but at night.

Ere dawn my labor drives me forth ;
'Tis night when I am free ;
A stranger am I to my child;
And strange my child to me.

I come in darkness to my home,
With weariness and — pay;
My pallid wife, she waits to tell
The things he learned to say.

How pUm and prettily he asked :
"Dear mamma, when's Tonight'?

when will come my dear papa
And bring a penny bright?"

1 hear her words— I hasten out—
This moment must it bel—

The father-love flames in my breast :
My child must look at me I

Dictzed by Google

I sttnd beside the tiny cot,

And look, and list, and— ah 1

A dream-thought moves the baby-lips :

"O, where is my papa !"

I kiss and kiss the shut blue eyes;
I kiss them not in vain.
They open,— O they see me then I
And straightway close again.

"Here's ycHir papa, my predous one;-
A penny for you 1"— ah I
A dream still moves the baby-lips :
"O, where is my papa I"

And I— I think in bitterness
And disappointment sore;
"Some day you will awake, my child.
To find me nevermore."

DictizedbyGoOJ^Ic

THE NIGHTINGALE TO THE
WORKMAN

Fair siunmer is here, glad summer is here 1
O hark I 'tis to you I am singing :
The sun is aU gold in a heaven of blue,
The birds in the forest are trilling for you,
The flies 'mid the grasses are winging;
The little brook babbles— its secret is sweet.
The loveliest flowers would circle your feet,—
And you to your work ever clinging ! . . .
Come forth! Nature loves you. Come forth I

Do not fearl
Fair summer is here, ^lad summer is here.
Full measure of happiness bringihe.
All creatures drink deep; and mey pour wine

anew
In the old cup of life, and they wonder at you.
Your portion is waiting since summer began;
Then take it, oh, take it, you laboring man I

*Tts summer today; ay, summer today I

The butterSies light on the flowers.

Delightfully glistens the silvery rain,

The mountains are covered with greenness again,

And perfumed and cool are the bowers.

The sheep frisk about in the flowery vale.

The shepnerd and shepherdess pause in the dale.

And these are the holiest hours! . . .

Delay not, delay not, life passes away!

*Ti8 summer today, sweet summer today!

Come, throttle your wheel's grinding power! . . .

Your worktime is bitter and endless in length;

And have you not foolishly lavished your strength?

DictizedbyGoOJ^Ie

think not the world is with bitterness rife,
But drink of the wine from the goblet of life.

O, summer is here, sweet summer is here 1

1 cannot forever be trilling;

I flee on the morrow. Then, you, have a care 1

The crow, from the perch 1 am leaving, the air

With ominous cries will be filling.

O, while I am singing to you from my tree

Of love, and of life, and of joy yet to be,

Arouse you! — O why so unwilling!

The heavens remain not so blue and so clear;—

Now summer is here I Come, summer Is here 1

Reach out for the joys that are thrilling I

For like you who fade at your wheel, day by day.

Soon all things will fade and be carried away.

Our lives are but moments; and sometimes the

cost
Of a moment o'erlooked is eternity lost.

DictizedbyGoOJ^IC

WHAT IS THE WORLD?

Well, say you the world is a chamber of sleep,
And life but a sleeping and dreaming?
Then I too would dream : and would joyously reap
The blooms of harmonious seeming;
The dream-flow'ra of hope and of freedwn, per-
chance,
The rich are so merrily reaping;—
In Love's eyes I'd fancy the joy of romance;
No more would I dream Love is wecfMng.

Or say you the world is a banquet, a ball,

Where everyone ^s who is able?

I too wish to sit like a lord in the hall

With savory share at the table.

I too can enjoy what is wholesome and good,

A morsel both dainty and healthy;

I have in my body the same sort of blood

That flows in the veins of the wealthy.

A gardra you say is the world, where abound

The sweetest and loveliest roses?

Then would I, no leave asking, saunter around

And gather me handfuls of posies.

Of thorns I am sure I would make me no wreath ;

(Of flowers I am very much fonder).

And with my beloved the bowers beneath

I'd wander, and wander, and wander.

Dictzed by Google

But ah I if the world is a battlefield wild,
Where struggle the weak with the stronger,
Then heed I no stonn and no wife and no childl-
I stand in abeyance no longer;—
Rush into the fire of the battle nor yield,
And fight for my perishing brother;
Well, if I am struck— I can die on the field;
Die gladly as well as another. . . .

DictizedbyGoOJ^IC

DESPAIR

No rest— not one day in the seven for me?

Not one, from the madd«iing ytJce to be free ?

Not one to escape from the boss on die prowl,

His sinister gltnce and-his furious growl,

The cry of me foreman, the smell of the shop,—

To feel for one moment the manacles drop?

— 'Tis rest then you want, and you fain would for-

getf
To rest and oblivion they'll carry you yet.

The flow'rs and the trees will have withered ere

long,
The last bird already is ending his song;
And soon will be leafless and shadeless the

bow'rs . .
I long, oh I long for the perfume of flow'rs!
To feel for a moment ere stripped are the trees,
In meadow lands open, the breath of the breeze.

— You long for the meadow lands breezy and fair?
O, soon enough others mil carry you there.

The rivulet sparkles with heavenly light,
The wavelets they glisten, with diamonds bedight.
Oh, but for a moment to leap in the stream,
And play in the waters that ripple and gleam !
My body is weakened with terrible toil.—
The bath would refresh me, renew me the while.

— You dream of a bath in the shimmering streamf
'Twill come— when forever is ended your dream.

;d by Google

The sweatshop is smoky and ^oomy and mean—
I strive — oh, now vainly I strive to be clean I
All day I am covered with grime and with dirt.
You'd laugh,— but I long for a spotless white shirtl
For life that is noble, 'tis needful, I ween,
To work as a man should; and still be as clean.
—So now 'tis your wish all in white to be dressedf
In white they will robe you, and lay you to rest.

The woods they are cool, and the woods they are

free;—
To dream and to wander, how sweet tt would be I
The birds their eternal glad holiday keep;
With song that enchants you and luUs you to deep.
'Tis hot here,— and close 1 and the din will not

cease.
I long for the forest, its coolth and its peace.
— Ay, cool you will soon be; and not only cool,
But cold as no forest can make you, O Fool!

I long for a friend who will comfort and cheer,
And nil me with courage when sorrow is near;
A comrade, of treasures the rarest and best.
Who pves to existence its crown and its crest;
And I am an orphan— and I am alone;
No friend or companion to call me his o^ra.
—Companions a-plenty — they're numberless too;
They're swarming already and waiting for you.

DictizedbyGoOJ^Ic

WHITHER?

( To a Young Girl)

Say whither, whither, pretty one?

The hour is young at presentj

How hushed is all the world around 1

Ere dawn— the streets hold not a sound.

O whither, whither do you run?

Sleep at this hour ta pleasant.

The flowers arc dreaming, dewy-wet;

The bird-nests they arc silent yet.

Where to, before the rising sun

The world her ligfet is giving?

"To earn a living."

O whither, whither, pretty child.
So late at night a-strolling?
Alone — with darkness round you curled?
All rests 1 — and sleeping is the world.
Where drives you now the wind so wild?
The midnight bells are tolling I . . .
Day hath not warmed you with her light;
What aid can'st hope then from the nig^t?
Night's deaf and blind I— Oh whither, child,
Light-minded fancies weaving?

"To earn a living."

Dictzed by Google

FROM DAWN TO DAWN

I bend o*er the wheel at my sewing;
I'm spent; and I'm hungry for rest;
No curse on the master bestowing,—
No hell-fires within me are glowing,—
Tho' pain fiares ita fires in my breast.

I mar the new cloth with my weeping,

And struggle to hold back the tears;

A fever comes over me, sweeping

My veins ; and all through me goes creeping

A oost of black terrors and fears.

The wounds of the old years ache newly;

The ^loom of the shop hems me in;

But SIX o'clock signals come duly:

O, freedom seems mine again, truly . . .

Unhindered I haste from the din.

Now home again, ailing and shaking,
With tears that are blinding my eyes,
With bones that are creaking and breaking,
Unjoyful of rest merely taking

A seat; hoping never to rise.

I gaze round me ; none for a greeting!
By life for the moment unpressed,
Mv poor wife lies sleeping— and beating
A lip-tune in dream false and fieeting.
My child mumbles dose to her breast.

Dictzed by Google

I look on them, weeping in M»row,
And think: "When the Reaper has cfflne—
When finds me no longer the morrow—
What aid then?— from whom will they borrow
The crust of dry bread and the home?

"What harbors that morrow," I wonder,
"For them when the breadwinner's gone? —
When sudden and swift as the thunder
The bread-bond is broken asunder,
And friend in the world there is none."

A numbness my brain is o'ertaking . . .
To sleep for a moment I drop :
Then start I . . . ' In the east light is break-
ing I—
I drag myself, ailing and aching,
Again to the gloom of the shop.

Dictzed by Google

THE CANDLE SELLER

In Hester Street, hard by a telegraph post,
There sits a poor woman as wan as a ghost.
Her pale face is shrunk, like the face of the dead,
And yet you can tell that her cheeks once were red.
But love, ease and friendship and glory, I ween,
May hardly the cause of their fading have been.
Poor soul, she has wept so, she scarcely can see.
A skeleton infant she holds on her knee.
It tugs at her breast, and it whimpers and sleeps,
But soon at her cry it awakens and weeps—
"Two cents, my good woman, three candles will

buy,
As bright as their flame be my star in the sky I"

Tho' few are her wares, and her basket is small,
She earns her own living by these, when at all.
She's there with her baby in wind and in rain,
In frost and in snow-fall, in weakness and pain.
She trades and she trades, through the good times

and slack-
No home and no food, and no cloak to her back.
She's kithless and kinless— one friend at the most,
And that one is silent : the telegraph post I
She asks for no alms, the poor Jewess, but still,
Altho' she is wretched, forsaken and III,
She cries Sabbath candles to those that come nigh,
And all that she pleads is, that people will buy.

To honor the sweet, holy Sabbath, each one
With joy in his heart to the maricet has gone.
To shops and to pushcarts they hurriedly fare;
But who for the poor, wretched woman will care?
A few of her candles you think they wiU take ?—

DictizedbyGoOJ^IC

They seek the meat patties, the fish and the cake.
She holds forth a hand with the pitiful cry:
"Two cents, my good women, three candles will

buy!"
But no one has listened, and no one has heard :
Her voice is so weak, that it fails at each word.
Perchance the poor mite in her lap understood,
She hears mother's crying— but where is the good

I pray you, how long will she sit there and cry
Her candles so feebly to all that pass by?
How long will it be, do you think, ere her breath
Gives out in the horrible struggle with Death?
How long will this frail one in mother-love strong,
Give suck to the babe at her breast? Oh, how -

long?
The child mother's tears used to swallow before,
But mother's ejres, nowadays, shed them no more.
Oh, dry are the ej^es now, and empty the brain,
The heart well-nigh broken, the breath drawn

with pain.
Yet ever, tho' faintly, she calls out anew :
"Oh buy but two candles, good women, but two I"

In Hester Street stands on the pavement of atone
A small, orphaned basket, forsaken, alone.
Beside it is sitting a corpse, cold and atark:
The seller of candles— will nobody mark?
No, none of the passers have noticed her yet.
The rich ones, on feasting are busily set,
And such as are pious, you well may believe,
Have no time to spare on the gay Sabbath eve.
So no one has noticed and no one has seen.
And now comes the nightfall, and with it, serene,

Dictzed by Google

The Princess, the Sabbath, from Heaven descends,
And all the gay throng to the synagogue wends.

Withm, where they pray, all is cleanlj^ and bright,
The cantor sings sweetly, they list with delight.
But why in a dream stands the tall chandelier,
As dim as the candles that gleam round a bier?
The candles belonged to the woman, you know,
Who died in the street but a short time ago.
The rich and the pious have brought them tonight,
For mother and child they have set them alight.
The rich and the pious their duty have done :
Her tapers are lighted who died all alone.
The rich and the pious are nobly behaved:
A body— what matters? But souls must be saved I

O synagogue lights, be ye witnesses bold
That momer and child died of hunger and cold
Where millions are squandered in idle display;
That men, all unheeded, must starve by the way.
Then hold back your flame, blessed li^ts, hold it

fasti
The great day of judgment will come at the last.
Before the white throne, where imposture is vain,
Ye lights for the soul, ye'll be lighted again I
And upward your flame there shall mount as on

wmgs,
And damn the existing false order of things I

DictizedbyGoOJ^Ic

THE PALE OPERATOR

If but with my pen I could draw him,
With terror you'd look in his face;

For he, since the lirst day I saw him,
Has sat there and sewed in his place.

Years pass in procession unending,
And ever the pale one Is seen,

As over his work he sits bending,
And fights with the soulless machine.

I feel, as I gaze at each feature.
Perspiring and grimy and wan,

It is not the strength of the creature, —
The will only, urges him on.

And ever the sweat-drops are Bowing,
They fall o'er his thin cheek in streams.

They water the stuff he is sewing,
And soak themselves into the seams.

How long shall the wheel yet, I pray you,
Be chased by the pale artisan?

And what shall the ending be, say you?
Resolve the dark riddle who can I

I know that it cannot be reckoned,—
But one thing the future will show :

When this man has vanished, a second
Will sit in his place there and sew.

Dictzed by Google

THE BEGGAR FAMILY

Within the court, before the judge,
There stand six wretched creatures,
They're lame and weary, one and all.
With pinched and pallid features.
The father is a broken man,
The mother weak and ailing.
The little children, skin and bone.
With fear and hunger wailing.

Their sins are very great, and call

Aloud for retribution.

For their's (maybe you guess 1) the crinw

Of hopeless destitution.

They look upon the judge's face,

They know what judges ponder,

They know the punishment that waits

On those that beg and wander.

For months from justice they have fled
Along the streets and highways,
Fnnn farm to farm, from town to town,
Along the lanes and byways.
They ve slept full oftentimes in jail,
They're known in many places;
Yet still they live, for all the woe
That's stamped upon their faces.

Dictzed by Google

The woman's chill with fear. The man

Implores the judge: "Oh tell us,

What will you? With our children small

Relentlessly expel us?

Oh let us be 1 We'll sleep at night

In comers dark; the city

Has room for all 1 And some kind soul

Will give a crust in pity.

"For wife and children I will toil:

It cannot be much longer

(For God almighty is and goodi)

Ere I for work am stronger.

Oh let us here with men remain,

Nor drive us any further 1

Oh why our curses will you have,

And not our blessings rather I"

And now the sick man quails before
The judge's piercing glances :
"No, only two of you shall go
This time and take your chuices.
Your wife and you t The children four
You'll leave, my man, behind you,
For them, within the Orphan's Home,
Free places I will find you."

Dictzed by Google

The father's dumb— the mother shrieks:

"My babes and me you'd sever?

If God there be, such cruel act

Shall find forgiveness never I

But first, oh judge, must you condemn

To death their wretched mother —

I cannot leave my children dear

With you or any other 1

"I bore and nursed them, struggling still
To shelter and to shield them,
Oh judge, I'll beg from door to door,
My very life-blood yield them I
I know you do not mean it, judge.
With us poor folk you're jesting.
Give back my babes, and further yet
We'll wander unprotesting."

The judge, alas I has turned away,

The paper dread unrolled.

And useless all the mother's grief,

The wild and uncontrolled.

More cruel can a sentence be

Than that which now is gjven?

Oh cursed the system 'neath whose 3wa>

The human heart is riven I

DictizedbyGoOJ^IC

A MILLIONAIRE

No, not from tuning-forks of gold

Take I my key for singing ;
From Upper Seats no order bold

Can set my music ringing;
But groans the slave through sense of wrong,

And naught my voice can smother;
As Same leaps up, so leaps my song

For my oppressed brother.

And dius the end comes swift and sure . .

Thus life itself must leave me;
For what can these my brothers poor

In compensation give me,
Save tears for ev'ry tear and sigh?—

(For they arc rich in anguish).
A millionaire of tears am I,

And mid my miUicms languish.

Dictzed by Google

SEPTEMBER MELODIES

I

The summer is over!

'Tis windy and chilly.

The 6owers are dead in the dale.

All beauty has faded,

TTie rose and the lily

In death-sleep lie withered and pale.

Now hurries the stormwind

A mournful procession

Of leaves and dead flowers along,

Now murmurs the forest

Its dying confession,

And hushed is the holiest song.

Their "prayers of departure"

The wild birds are singing,

They fly to the wide stormy main.

Oh tell me, ye loved ones.

Whereto are ye winging?

Oh answer: when come ye again?

Oh hark to the wailing

For joys that have vanished I

The answer is heavy with pain ;

Alas I We know only

That hence we are banished—

But God knows of coming again!

Dictzed by Google

II

The Tkiye8*-man has hlown his horn,
And swift the days' declining;
The leaves drop off, in fields forlorn
Are tender grasses pining.

The earth will so<mi be cold and bare,
Her robe of glory falling;
Already to the mourner's prayer
The last wild bird is calling.

He sings so sweetly and so sad
A song of friends who parted,
That even if it find you glad,
It leaves you broken hearted.

The copses shudder in the breeze,
Some dream-known terror fearing.
Awake! O great and little trees I
The Judgment-day is nearing I

O men I O trees in copses cold I
Beware the rising weather I
Or late or soon, both young and old
Shall strew the ground together. .

*Tkire: first blast of the Ram'i horn.

30

Dictzed by Google

DEPRESSION

All the striving, all the failing,
To the silent Nothing sailing.
Swiftly, swiftly passing byl
For the land of shadows leaving,
Where a wistful hand is weaving
Thy sdll woof, Eternity I

Gloomy thoughts in me awaken,
And with fear my breast is shaken,
Thinking ; O thou black abyss ;
All the toil and thrift of life.
All the struggle and the strife,
Shall it come at last to this?

With the grave shall be requited

Good and evil, and united

Ne'er to separate again?

What the light hath parted purely,

Shall the darkness join more surely?—

Was the vict'ry won in vain?

O mute and infinite extension,

O time beyond our comprehension,

Shall thought and deed ungarnered fall?

Ev'rything dost take and slay,

Ev'rything dost bear away.

Silent Nothing, silent All I . . .

DictizedbyGoOJ^IC

THE CANARY

The free canary warbles

In leafy forest dell:

Who feels what rapture thrills her,

And who her joy can tell?

The sweet canary warbles
Where wealth and splendor dwell :
Who knows what sorrow moves her,
And who her pain can tell?

Dictzed by Google

WANT AND I

Who's there? who's there? who was it tried
To force the entrance I've denied?
An 'twere a friend, I'd gladly borne it,
But no— 'twas Want! I could have sworn it.
I heard thy voice, old witch, I know tiiee I
Avaunt, thou evil hag, beshrew thee 1
God's curse 1 why seekest thou to find me?
Away to all black years behind me I

To torture me was thine endeavor,
My body from my sou! to sever.
Of pride and courage to deprive me,
And into beggary to drive me.
Begone, where thousand devils bum —
Begone, nor evermore return I
Begone, most wretched thou of creatures.
And hide for aye thine hateful features!
—Beloved, ope die door in pityl

No friend have I in all the city
Save thee, then open to my call I
The night is bleak, the snowflakes fall.
Thine own, old Want am I, believe me I
Ah, what delight, wilt thou receive me ?
I found, when I from thee had parted,
No friend but he was fickle-hearted I .

Dictzed by Google

Away, old hag I Thou liest, lo,
Thou harbinger of pain and woet
Away — am I thine only friend?
Thy lovers pale, they have no end I
Thou vile one, may the devil take thee !
Begone and no more visits make me 1
For — Yiddish writers not to mention —
Men hold thee no such rare invention.

— 'Tis true I yet those must wait my leisure.
To be with thee is now my pleasure.
I love thy black and curling hair,
I love thy wounded heart's despair,
I love thy sighs, I love to swallow
Thy tears and all thy songs to follow.
Oh great indeed, might I but show it,
My love for thee, my pale-faced poett

Away, I've heard all that before,
And am a writer, mark, no more.
Instead of verses, wares I tell.
And candy and tobacco sell.
My life is sweet, my life is bitter.
I'm ready and a prompt acqultter.
Oh, smarter traders there are many.
Yet live I well and turn a penny.

m

Dictzed by Google

— A dealer then wilt thou remain,
Forever from the pen abstain?
Good resolutions time disperses;
Thou yet shalt hunger o'er thy verses,
But vainly seeking to excuse thee
Because thou dost, tonight, refuse me.
Then open, fool, I tell thee plain,
That we perforce shall meet again.

Begone the way that I direct thee 1
I've millionaires now to protect me;
No need to beg, no need to borrow.
Nor fear a penniless tomorrow,
Nor walk with face of blackest omen
To thrill the hearts of stupid foemen,
Who fain my pride to earth would bring.
Because, forsooth, I sweetly sing I

—Ho ho I ere thou art crown much older,
Thy millionaires will all grow colder.
Thou soon shalt be forgotten by them—
They've other things to occupy them I
Just now with thee they're playing kindly,
But fortune's wheel is turning blmdly
To grind thy pleasures ere thou know it—
And thou art left to me, my poet I

Dictzed by Google

THE PHANTOM VESSEL

Now the last, long rays of sunset
To the tree-tops are ascending.
And the ash-gray evening shadows
Weave themselves around the earth.

On the crest of yonder mountain,
Now are seen from out the distance
Slowly fading crimson traces;
Footprints of the dying day.

Blood-stained banners, torn and tattered,
Hanging in the western comer.
Dip their parched and burning edges
In the OKilmg ocean wave.

Smoothly roll the crystal wavelets
Through the dusky veils of twilight,
That are tremblins down from heaven
O'er the bosom or the sea.

Soft a little wind is blowing
O'er the gently rippling waters—
What they whisper, what they murmur,
Who is wise enough to say?

Broad her snow-white sails outspreading
'Gainst the quiet sky of evening.
Flies a slup without a sailor,
Flies— and whither, who can tell?

3«

D,i.,.db, Google

As by mag^c moves the rudder;
Borne upon ber snowy pinions
Flies the ship — as tho' a spirit
Drove her onward at its will I

Empty is she, and desertedi
^ily dose beside the mainmast
Stands a lonely child, heul^roken,
Sobbing loud and bitterly.

Long and golden curis are falling
Down his neck and o'er his shoulders;
Now he Ranees backward sighing,
And the silent ship flies on I

With a little,' shining kerdiief,
Fluttering upon the oreezes,
Unto mc he sends a greeting,
Frcnn afar he waves farewell.

And my heart is throbbing wildly,
I am weeping — tell me wherefore?
God I that lovely child, I know him I
'Tis my youth that flies from me I

Dictzed by Google

TO MY MISERY

O MUery of mine, no other
In faithfulness can match with thee,

Thou more than friend, and more than brother.
The only thing that cares for met

Where'er I turn, are unkind faces,
And hate and treachery and guile,

Thou, Mis'ry, in all times and places,
Dost greet me with thy pallid smile.

At birth I found thee waiting for me,

I knew thee in my cradle first,
The same small eyes and dim watched o'er me,

The same dry, bony fingers nursed.

And day by day when morning lightened,
To school thou led'st me— home did'st bring,

And thine were all the blooms that brighten^
The chilly landscape of my spring.

And, thou my match and marriage monger.
The marriage deed by thee was read;

The hands foretelling need and hunger
Were laid in blessing on my head.

Thy love for me shall last unshaken.
No further proof I ask, for when

My hopes for aye were from me taken,
My Mis'ry, thou wert with me then;

Dictzed by Google

And still, while sorrow's storm is breaking
Above me, and my head I bow —

The kindly and the unfonaking,
Oh Mis'ry, thou art with me now.

Ay, still from out Fate's gloomy towers

I see thee come to me again,
With wreaths of everlasting flowers.

And songs funereal in thy train.

And when life's curses rock me nightly.
And hushed Z lie in slumber's hold,

Tlnr sable form comes treading llghdy
To wrap me in its garments fold.

Thy brother let me be, and wholly
Repay thee all I owe, tbo' late :

My achmg heart, my melancholy,
My songs to thee I dedicate.

39

DictizedbyGoOJ^IC

O LONG THE WAY

O long the way and abort -the day,.

No light in tower or town,
The waters roar and far the shore—

My ship, my ship goes down I

'Tis all in vain to strive again,
My cry the billows drown,

The fig^t is done, the wind has won—
My ship, my ship goes down I

Br^ht sun, adieu I Tfaou'lt shine anew-
When skies no longer frown,

But I — the deafening billows crash —
My ship, my ship goes down I

Dictzed by Google

TO THE FORTUNE SEEKER

A little more, a little less t—

O shadow-hunters pitiless,

Why then so eager, say I

What'er you leave the grave will take,

And all you gain and ul you make,

It will not last a dayl

Full soon will come the Reaper Black,
Cut thoms and flowers mark his track
Across Life's meadow blithe.
Ch)pose him, meet him as you will,
Old Time's behests he barkens still,
Unsparing wields his scythe.

A horrid mutiny by stealth

Breaks out,— of power, fame and wealth

Deserted you shall be I

The foam upon your lip is rife;

The last migma now of Life

Shall Death resolve for thee.

You call for help— 'tis all in vain!
What have you for your toil and pain.
What have you at uie last?
Poor luckless hunter, are you dumb?
This way the cold palUbearers come:
A beggar's soul has passed I

A little less, a little morel-
Look forth, look forth I without the door
There stands a robber old.
He'll force your ev'ry lock and apring,
And all your goods he'll take and fling
On Sty^an waters cold.
4>

Dictzed by Google

MY YOUTH

Come, beneath yon verdant branches,

Come, my own, with me I

Come, and there my soul will open

Secret doors to thee.

Yonder shalt thou leam the secrets

Deep within my breast,

Where my love upsprings eternal;—

Cornel with pain opprest,

Yonder all the truth I'll tell thee,

Tell it thee with tears

(Ah, so long have we been parted,

Years of youth, sweet years I )

See'st thou the dancers floating

On a stream of sound?

There alone, the soul entrancing,

Happiness is found I

Magic music, hark [ it calls us.

Ringing wild and sweet I

One, two, three I— beloved, haste thee,

Point thy dainty feet I

Now at last I teel that living

Is no foolish jest . . .

(O sweet years of youth departed,

Vanished with the rest!)

Dictzed by Google

Fiddler, play a little longer I
Why this hurry, say?
I'm but half-way through a measure-
Yet a little playt
Smiling in her wreath of flowers
Is my love not fair?
See us in the charmed circle,
Flitting light as air t
Haste thee, loved one, for the music
Shall be hushed anon . . .
(O sweet years of youth departed,
Whither are ye gone?)

Gracious youth of mine, so quickly

Hath it come to this?

Lo, where flowed the golden river,

Yawns the black abyss!

Where, oh where is my beloved.

Where the wreath of flowers?

Where, oh where the merry fiddler.

Where those happy hours?

Shall I never hear the echoes

Of those songs again?

Oh, on what hills are they ringing,

O'er what sunny plain?

May not I from out the distance

Cast one backward glance

On that fair and lost existence,

Youth's sweet dalliance?

Foolish dreamer 1 Time hath snatched it,

And, tbo' man implore,

Joys that he hath reaped and garnered

Bloom again no more I

Dictzed by Google

IN THE WILDERNESS

Alone in desert dreary,
A bird with folded winga
Beholds the waste about her,
And sweetly, sweetly sings.

So heaven-sweet her singing.
So clear the bird notes flow,
'Twould seem the rocks must waken,
The desert vibrant grow.

Dead rocks and silent mountains
Would'st waken with thy strain,—
But dumb are still the mountains,
And dead the rocks remain.

For whom, O heavenly singer.
Thy song so clear and free?
Who hears or sees or heeds thee,
Who feels or cares for thee ?

Thou may'st outpour in music
TTiy very soul . . . Twere vain !
In stone thou canst not w'aken
A throb of joy or pain.

Thy song shall soon be silenced;
I feel it . . . For I know
Thy heart is near to bursting
With loneliness and woe.

Ah, vain is thine endeavor;
It naught availeth— nay;
For lonely as thou camest,
So shalt thou pass away.

Dictzed by Google

I'VE OFTEK LAUGHED

I've often laughed and oftener still have wept,
A sighing always through my lau^ter crept,
Tears were not far away ...
What is there to say?

I've spoken mvak and oftener held by tmgue,
For still the most was neither said nor sung.
Could I but tell it so . . .
What is there to know ?

I've hated much and loved, oh so much more I
Fierce contrasts at my very heartstrings tore . ,
I tried to fight them— well . . .
What is there to tell?

45

DictizedbyGoOJ^Ic

AGAIN I SING MY SONGS

Once again my songs I sing thee,

Now the spell is broken;
Brothers, yet again I bring thee

, Songs of love the token.
Of my joy and of my sorrow

Gladly, sadly bringing; —
Summer not a song would borrow —

Winter sets me singing.

O when life turns sad and lonely,

When our joys are dead;
When are heard the ravens only

In the trees o'erhead ;
When the stormwind on the bowers

Wreaks its wicked will,
When the frost paints lying flowers.
How should I be still?

When the clouds are low descending.

And the sun is drowned;
When the winter knows no ending,

And the cold is crowned;
When with evil gloom oppressed

Lie the ruins bare;
When a sigh escapes the breast,

Takes us unaware;

Dictzed by Google

When the anow-wrapped mountain dreami

Of its summer gladness,
When the wood is stripped and seems

Full of care and sadness ;
When the songs are growing still

As in Death's repose,
And the heart is growing chill,

And the eyelids close ;

Then, O then I can but sing

For I dream her coming-
May, sweet May! I see her bring

Buds and wild-bee hummingl
Through the silence heart-appalling,

As I stand and listen,
I can hear her song-birds calling,

See her green leaves glisten I

Thus again my songs I sing thee,

Now the spell is broken;
Brothers, yet again I bring thee

Of my love the token.
Of my joy and of my sorrow

Gladly, sadly bringing, —
Summer not a song would borrow I —

Winter sets me singing.

47

Dictzed by Google

LIBERTY

When night and silence deep
Hold all the world in sleep,
As tho' Death claimed the Hour,
By some striinge witchery
Appears her form to me,
As tho' Magic were her dow'r.

Her heauty heaven's lig^tl
Her bosom snowy white I
But pale her chedc appears.
Her shoulders firm and fair;
A mass of gold her hair.
Her eyes— the home of tears.

She looks at me nor speaks.
Her arms are raised; she seeks
Her fettered hands to show.
On both white wrists a chain I —
^e cries and pleads in pain :
"Unbind me I— Let me go I"

I bum with bitter ire,
I leap in wild desire
The cruel bonds to break;
But God I around the chain
Is coiled and coiled again
A long and loathsome »iake.

Dictzed by Google

I shout, I cry, I dilde;
My voice goes far and wide,
A ringing call to men:
"Oh come, let in the light)
Arise t Ye have the might I
Set Freedom free again F'

They sleep. But I strive on.

They sleep! . . . Can'st wake a stone?

That one might stir I but one !

Call I, or hold my peace,

None comes to her release;

And hope for her is none.

But who may see her plight

And not go mad outright! . . .

"Now: up! For Freedom's sake I"

I spring to take her part;—

"Fool I cries a voice. I start . . .

In anguish I awake.

Dictzed by Google

A TREE IN THE GHETTO

There stands in th' leafless Ghetto
One spare-leaved, ancient tree;
Above the Ghetto noises
It moans eternally.

In wtmdennent it muses,
And munnurs with a sigh:
"Alas I how God-forsaken
And desolate am 1 1

"Alas, the stony alleys,
And noises loud and bold I
Where are ye, birds of summer?
Where are ye, woods of old?

"And where, ye breezes balmy
That wandered vagrant here?
And where, oh sweep of heavens
So deep and blue and clear?

"Where are ye, mighty giants?
Ye come not riding by
U[)on your fiery horses,
A-whistling merrily.

"Of other days my dreamingt
Of other days, ah mcl
When sturdy hero-races
Lived wild and glad and free I

50

Dictzed by Google

"The old son ahone, how brightly I
The old lark sai^, what songl
O'er earth Desire and Gladness
Reigned happily and long

"But see I what are these ant-hills?—
These ants that creep and crawl?
Bereft of man and nature,
My life is stripped of all 1

"And I, an andent orohan,
What do I here alone?
My friends have all departed,
My youth and glory gone.

**0h, tear me, root and branches I
No longer let me be
A living head-stone, brooding
O'er the grave of liberty."

DictizedbyGoOJ^Ic

THE CEMETERY NIGHTINGALE

In the hills' embraces holden,

In a. valley filled with glooms,
Lies a cemetery oldeo,

Strewn with countless mould'ring tombs.

Ancient graves o'erhung with mosses,
Crumbling stones, enaced and green,—

Venturesome is he who crosses,
Night or day, the lonely scene.

Blasted trees and willow streamers,
'Midst the terror round them si»eiul,

Seem like awe-bound, silent dreamers
In this garden of die dead.

One bird, anguish stricken, lingers

In the shadow of the vale.
First and best of feathered singers,—

'Tis the churchyard nlghdn^de.

As from bough to bou^ he flutters,
Sweetest songs of woe and wail

Through his gift divine he utters
For the dreamers in the vale.

Listen how his trills awaken
Edioes from each mossy stone I

Of all places he has taken
Giod s still Acre for his own.

*»

D,i.,.db, Google

Not on Spring or Summer g^ory,
Not on god or angel story
Loyal poet-fancy dwells I
Not cm streams for rich men flowing,
Not on fieltb for rich men's mowing,-
Gravei he sees, of graves he tells.
Pain, oppression, woe eternal,
Open heart-wounds deep, diurnal.
Nothing comforts or allays;
O'er God's Acre in each nation
Sings he songs of tribulation
Tunes his golden harp and plays.

Dictzed by Google

THE CREATION OF MAN

When the world was first created
By th' all-wise Eternal One,
Asked he none for help or counsel, —
Simply spake, and it was done I

Made it for his own good pleasure.
Shaped it on his own design,
Spent a Ions day's work upon it,
Foimed it fair and very fine.

Soon he diou^ht on man's creation,—
Then perplexities arose.
So the Lord His wmged Senate
Called, the question to propose:

Hear, my great ones, why I called ye.
Hear and help me ye who can.
Hear and tell me how I further
Shall proceed in making man.

Ponder well hefore ye uuwer.
And consider, children dear;—
In our image I would make him,
Free from stain, from blanish clear.

Of my holy fire Fd give him,
Crowned monarch shall he be.
Ruling with a sway unquettiimed
Over earth and air and sea.

Dictzed by Google

Birds across the blue sky winging
Swift shall fly before his face,—
Silver fishes in the ocean,
Savage Hon in the chase.

—How? This toy of froth and vapor,
Thought the Senate, 611ed with fear,
If so wide his Idngdom stretches,
Shortly he will break in here!

So the Lord they answered, saying;—
Mind and strength Thy creature givt.
Form him in our very image.
Lord, but wingless let him live I

Lest he shame the soaring eagle
Let no winga to man be giv'n,
Bid him o'er the earth be ruler,
Lord, but keep him out of heav'n I

Wisely said, the Lord made answer,
Lo, your counsel fair I take I
Yet, my Senate, one exMptioB—
One alone, I inll to make.

One exception I for the poet,
For the singer, shall have wings;
He the gates of Heav'n shall enter,
Highest of created things.

One I single from among ye,
One to watch the ages long.
Promptly to admit the poet
When he hears his holy song.

5S

DictizedbyGoOJ^Ic

JOURNAUSM

Written today, and read today,

And stale the news tomorrow!—

Upon the sands I build ... I play!

I play, and weep in sorrow :

"Ah God, dear God I tq find cessation

From this soul-crushing occupation I

If but one year ere Thou dost call me Thither,

Lord, at thif blighting task let me not wither."

Dictzed by Google

PEN AND SHEARS

My tailor's shears I scorned then;

I strove for something higher:
To edit news— live by the pen—

The pen that ^11 not tire I

The pen, that was my humble slave,

Has now enslaved its master;
And fast as Sows its Midas-wave,

My rebel tears 6ow faster.

The world I clad once, tailor-hired,

Whilst I in tatters quaked,
Today, you see me well attired.

Who lets the world go naked.

What human soul, how'er oppressed,
Can feel my chained soul's yearning I

A monster woe lies in my breast,
In voiceless anguish burning.

Oh, swing ajar the shop door, do t

I'll bear as ne'er I bore it.
My blood I . . . you sweatshop leeches,
you I . . .

Now less I'll blame you for it

I'll stitch as ne'er in former years;

I'll drive the mad wheel faster;
Slave will I be but to the shear*;

The pen shall know its masterl

57

Dictzed by Google

FOR HIRE

Work with might and main,
Or with hand and heart,

Work with soul and brain,
Or with holy art,

Thread, or genius' fire-
Make a vest, or verse—

If 'tis done for hire.
It is done the worse.

Dictzed by Google

A FELLOW SLAVE

Pale-faced is he, as in the door
He stands and trembles visibly,—
With diffidence approaches me,
And says: "Dear editor,

"Since write you must, in prose or rhyme.
Expose my master's knavery,—
Condemn, I pray, the slavery
That dominates our time.

"I labor for a widced man
Who holds o'er all my bemg sway,—
Who keeps me harnessed night and day,
Since wotk I first began.

"No leisure moments do I store.
Yet harsh words only will he speak;
My days are his, from week to week,
But still he cries for more.

"Oh print, I beg you, all I've said,
And ask the world if this be ri^ht:
To e^ve the worker wage so slight
That he must want for bread.

"See, I have sinews powerful.
And I've endurance, subtle slull,—
Yet may ngt use them at my will.
But live a master's tool.

Dictzed by Google

"But oh, without avail do I
Lay bare the woes of workingmeni
Who earns his living by the pen,
Feels not our misery/'

The pallid slave yet paler grew,
And ended here his bitter cry , . . .
And thus to him I made reply :
"My friend, you judge untrue.

"My strength and skill, like yours, are gain
For others . . . Soldi . . . You

understand?
Your master— well — he owns your hand.
And mine— he owns my brain."

Dictzed by Google

THE JEWISH MAY

May has come from out the shower*,
Sun and splendor in her train.
All the grasses and the flowers
Waken up to life again.
Once again the leaves do show,
And the meadow blossoms blow,
Once again throurii hills and dales
Rise the s(mgs of nightingales.

Wheresoe'er on field or hillside
With her patnt-bru^ Spring is seen,—
In the valley, by die riilside.
All the earth is dedced with green.
Once again the sun beguiles—
Moves the drowsy world to smiles.
See I the sun, with mother-kiss
Wakes her diitd to joy and bliss.

Now each human feeling presses

Flow'r like, upward to me sun,

Softly, through the heart's recesses,

Steal sweet fancies, one by one.

Golden dreams, their wings outshaking,

Now are making

Realms celestial,

All of azure.

New life w^ing,

Bringing treasure

Out of measure

For the soul's delight and pleamre.

Dictzed by Google

Who then, tell me, old and sad,
Near* ua with a heavy tread?
On the sward in verdure clad,
Lonely is the strange newcomer,
Weanly he walks and slow,—
His sweet sprinKtime and his summer
Faded long and long ago I

Say, iriio is it yonder walks
Past the hedgerows decked anew.
While a fearful spectre stalks
1^ his side the woodland through 7
"lus our ancient friend the Jew I
No sweet fancies hover round him,
Naught but terror and -distress.
Wounds unhealed
Where lie revealed
Ghosts of former recollections,
Corpses, corpses, old affections,
Buned youth and happiness.

Brier and blossom bow to meet him
In derision round his path;
Gloomily the hemlocks greet him
And the crow screams out in wrath.
Strange the birds and strange the flowers,
Strange the sunshine seems and dim,
Folk on earth and heav'nly powersi—
Lo, the May is strange to him I

Ijttle flowers, it were meeter
If ye made not quite so bold :
Sweet ye are, but oh, far sweeter
Knew he in the days of old [

6a

DictzedbyGoOglC

Oranges by thousands glowing
Filled his groves on either hand,—
All the plants were God's own sowing
In his happy, far-off land I

Ask the cedars on the mountain I
Ask them, for they know him well I
Myrtles green by Sharon's fountain,
In whose shade he loved to dwell !
Ask the Mount of Olives beauteous,—
Ev'ry tree by ev'ry stream I —
One and all will answer duteous
For the fair and ancient dream. . .

O'er the desert and the pleasance
Gales of Eden softly blew.
And the Lord His loving Presence
Evermore declared anew.
Angel children at their leisure
Played in thousands round His tent,
Countless thoughts of joy and pleasure
God to His beloved sent.

There in bygone days and olden.
From a wond'rous harp and golden
Charmed he music spirit-haunting.
Holy, chaste and soul-enchanting.
Never with the ancient sweetness,
Never in its old completeness
Shall it sound: his dream is ended,
On a willow-bough suspended. . . .

Dictzed by Google

Gone that dream so fair and fleeHngt
Yet behold : thou dreamst anew I
Hark 1 a new May gives thee greeting
From afar. Dost hear it, Jew?
Weep no more, altho' with sorrows
Bow'd e'en to the grave ; I see
Happier years and brighter morrows,
Dawning, Israel, for thee I
Hear'st thou not the promise ring
Where, like doves on silver wing.
Thronging cherubs sweetly sing
Newmade songs of what shall be ?

Hark! your olives shall be shaken,

And your citrons and your limes

Filled with fragrance. God shall waken.

Lead you as in olden times.

In the pastures by the river

Ye once more your flocks shall tend.

Ye shall live, and live forever

Happy lives that know no end.

No more wandering, no more sadness:

Peace shall be your lot, and still

Hero hearts shall throb with gladness

'Neath Moriah's silent hill.

Nevermore of dread afflictions

Or oppression need ye tell :

Filled with joy and benedictions

In the old home shall ye dwell.

To the fatherland returning.

Following the homeward path.

Ye shall find the embers burning

Still upon the ruined hearth I

Dictzed by Google

THE FEAST OF LIGHTS

Ljttle candles glisteningt
Telling those are listemng
Legends manifold,
Many a little storr,
Tales of blood and gjory
Of the days of old.

As J watch you flicker,

As I list you bicker,

Speak the ancient dreams :

— You have battled, Jew* one time,

You have conquer'd too, one time.

(God, how strange it seems 1)

In your midst was order once.
And within your border once
Strangers took no part.
Jew, you had a land one time.
And an armed hand, one time.
(How it moves the heart!)

Glisten, candles, glisten I

As I stand and listen

All the grief in mc,

All the woe is stirred again,

And the question heard again:

What the end shall be ?

65

Dictzed by Google

CHANUKAH THOUGHTS

Not always as you see us now,

Have we been used to weep and sigh,

We too have grasped the sword, I trow,
And seen astonished foemen fly I

We too have rushed into the fray,

For our Belief the battle braved,
And through the spears have fought our way.

And high the flag of vict'ry waved.

But generations go and come,

And suns arise and set in tears.
And we are weakened now and dumb,

Foregone the might of ancient years.

In exile where the wicked reign.
Our courage and our pride expired,
But e'en today eadi throbbing vein
With Asmonean blood is fired.

TTio' cruel hands with mighty fiail

Have threshed us, yet we have not blenched;
The sea of blood could naught prevail,

That fire is burning, still unquenched.

Our fall is great, our fall is real,

(You need but look on us to tell 1)
Yet in us lives the old Ideal

Which all the nations shall not quell.

Dictzed by Google

SFERE

[ asked of my Muse, had she any objection
To hiughing with me, — not a word for reply 1

You sec, it is Sfere, our time for dejection, —
And can a Jew laugh when the rule is to cry?

You laughed then, you say? 'tis a sound to affright
one!
In Jewish delight, what is worthy the name?
The laugh of a Jew I It is never a right one,
For laughing and groaning with him are the
same.

You thought there was zest in a Jewish existence?
You deemd that the star of a Jew could be kind ?
The Spring calls and beckons with gracious in-
sistence,—
Jew,— sit down in sackcloth and weep yourself
blind I

The garden is green and the woodland rejoices;
How cool are the breezes, with fragrance how
blent I
But Spring calls not you with her thousand sweet
voices I—
With you it is Sfere, — sit still and lament!

The beautiful summer, this life's consolation,
In moaning and sighing glides quickly away.

What hope can it offer to one of my nation ?
What joy can he find in the splendors of May?

Dictzed by Google

Bewildered and homeless, of whom whoso passes
May fearlessly stop to make sport at his ease,—

Say, is it for him to seek flowers and grasses,

For him to be thinking on meadows and trees?

And if for a m(»nent, forgetting to ponder

On {^ief and oppression, song breaks out anew,

I hear in his lay only: "Wan<ur and wander!"
And ev'ry note tells me the singer's a Jew.

A skilful muucian, and one who is versed
In metre and measure, whenever he hears

The pitiful song of the Jewish dispersed.
It touches his heart and it moves him to tears.

The blast of the Ram's-hom that quavers and
trembles,—

On this, now, alone Jewish fancy is bent.
To grief and contrition its host it assembles,

And causes the stoniest heart to relent.

The wail that went up when the Temple was shat-
tered,—
The song of Atonement, the Suppliant's psalm, —
These only he loves, since they took him— and
scattered,-
Away from:the land of the balsam and balm.

Of all the sweet instruments, shiver'd and broken,
That once in the Temple delighted his ear,

The Ram's-hom alone has he kept, as a token.
And 8<^ out his soul on it once in the year.

68

Dictzed by Google

Instead of the harp and the viol and cymbal,
Instead of the lyre, the guitar and the flute,
He has but the dry, wither'd Ram's-hom, the sym-
bol
Of gloom and despondence; the rest alt are
mute.

He laughs, or he breaks into song, but soon after,
Tho' fain would he take in man's gladness a
part,
One hears, low resounding athwart the gay laugh-
ter,
The Suppliant's psalm,— and it pierces the heart.

I asked of my Muse, had she any objection
To laughing with. me,— not a word for reply!

You see, it Is Sfere, our time for dejection, —
And can a Jew laugh when the rule is to cry?

DictizedbyGoOJ^IC

MEASURING THE GRAVES

First old Minna, bent and lowly,
Eyes with weeping nearly blind;

Pessyeh-Tsvaitel, slowly, slowly,
With the yam creeps on behind.

On the holy book of Minna

Fall the tear-drops — scarce a word

(For the heart is moved within her)
Of her praying can be heard.

"Mighty Lord, whose sovereign pleasure
Made all worlds and men of dust,

I, Thy humble handmaid, measure,
God, the dwellings of the just.

"Speechless here the ground they cumber,
Where the pious, gracious God,

Where Thy heart's beloved slumber
Underneath the quiet sod.

"They who sing in jubilation,

Lord, before Thy holy seat,
Each one from his habitation,

Through the dream for ever sweet.

"From the yarn with which I measure,
Pessyeh-Tsvaitel, filled with awe.

Wicks will make, to search the treasure.
Nightly, of Thy holy Law.

Dictized by Google

Praying still, by faith sustained:
'Thou with whom the holy dwell,

Scorn not Jacob's prayer unfeigned,
Mark the tears of Israel I' "

Dictzed by Google

THE FIRST BATH OF ABLUTION

The wind !s keen, the frost is dread,

Toward the icy water,
By aunt and mother forth is led

The fisher's lovely daughter.

"Dive in, dive in, my child, with haste !

There's naught whereon to pcmder,
The time, dear heart, we must not waste :

The sun has set out yonder.

"God's mercy, child, is great and sure :

Fear not but He will show itl
Leap in, — leap out I and you are pure,—

*Tis over ere you know it I"

The frost and cold with cruel knife

The tender form assail.
Ah, would you be a Jewish wife.

You must not weep and quail I

And in — and out, — she leaps. Once morel

Poor girl, it has not served you.
No purer are you than before :

A Gentile has observed you I

And into th' icy flood again,

In terror wild she leaps I
The white limbs shudder ... all in vain I

The Christian— still he peeps.

Dictzed by Google

The frost and cold, they burn and bite,
The women rub their fingers,

The lovely child grows white — and white,
As on uie bank she lingers.

"The Law, my child, we must fulfill.

The scoundrel see depart I
Yet once I 'tis but a moment's chill,

'Tis but a trifling smart I"

The white-faced child the Law has kept,

The covenant unstained,
For in the waters deep she leapt,

And there below remained.

Dictzed by Google

ATONEMENT EVENING PRAYER

Atonement Day — evening pray'r — sadness pro-
found.

The soul-lights, so clear once, are dying around.

The reader is spent, and he barely can speak;

The people are faint, e'en the basso is weak.

The choristers pine for the hour of repose.

Just one— two chants more, and the pray'r book
we close I

And now ev'ry Jew's supplication is ended,
And Nilah* approaching, and twilight descended.
The blast of the New Year is blown on the horn,
All go; by the Ark I am standing forlorn,
And thinking: "How shall it be with us anon,
When closed is the temple, and ev'ryone gone I"

'Ne'ilah, (Hebrew) Conclusion, concluding prayer.
74

Dictzed by Google

EXIT HOLIDAY

Farewell to the feast-day I the pray'r book is
stained

With tears; of the booth scarce a trace has re-
mained ;

The lime branch is withered, the osiers are dying,

And pale as a corpse the fair palm-frond is lying;

The boughs of grey willow are trodden and
broken —

Friend, these are your hopes and your longings
unspoken I

Lo, there lie your dreamings all dimm'd and re-
jected.

And there lie the joys were so surely expected!

And there is the happiness blighted and perished,

And all that aforetime your soul knew and cher-
ished.

The loved and the longed for, the striven for
vainly —

Your whole life before you lies pictured how
plainly I

The branches are sapless, the leaves will decay,
An end is upon us, and whence, who shall say?
The broom of the beadle outside now has hustled
The lime and the palm that so pleasantly rustled.
There blew a cold gust, from our sight all is ban-
ished—
The shaft from a cross-bow less swiftly had van-
ished I

75
MAR 2 6 19lg

Dictzed by Google

D,i.,.db, Google